It's vanishing. They pull it down and tow it away and within a month, something new stands in its place
And it wasn't that I loved those older things, or found them beautiful or good,
Only that they were part of me, and losing them, I lose part of myself.

These transplants won't take. My body, which is the body of the city also, rejects them.

You can't make me smile, if I don't feel like smiling. There is a truth in sadness and leaving it unacknowledged won't make it disappear. Cat on the doorstep, scratching and mewing.

Those old buildings, piles of rubble now, carted off to who knows where, carried a sadness within themselves, an unassuaged hurt behind the eyes. Soot in the pores of the brick. Shoulders which seemed to stoop, almost imperceptibly, under the weight of the world. The world which won't accommodate us, or comfort us, or care for us.

Faces and bodies which aged as we age, as glass and steel and plastic don't age. Botoxed faces smile at us with American teeth bared, faces we don't recognise, row upon row of them, larger than us, and overbearing. And the cranes on every corner, rearing more buildings from holes in the ground. And I don't know where I am anymore, or if I have a future here.

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